


The Ocean in the Snow

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: The Sea Inside [6]
Category: Alec Hardy - Fandom, Broadchurch
Genre: A Hardy and Grace flashback, Alec Hardy - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Made For Each Other, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: A Hardy and Grace flashbackIt's their first Christmas, and Hardy and Grace find themselves alone in his bungalow by the the sea. Alec is transfixed by the sight of the grey winter sea, and Grace does what she can to bring him back into himself, and to her.





	The Ocean in the Snow

He watched the churning waves through the snow.

The sea was a strange thing - it was different every season. In the summer, it was all saturated tones of green and blue, crystalline, inviting. In the fall, there were shades of brown and ochre in the blue to match the trees. But a winter sea ... It was a frightening thing. It seemed angrier, more active. It’s as if it refused to be still, and freeze. It creamed and foamed in shades of grey that made it look more cold and desolate that it was. But he knew that there was still life underneath the surface, stolen life-

“Do you miss her?” a hand squeezed his shoulder. He jumped, startled from his thoughts. It was Grace.

“Do I miss-?” he looked back toward the beach, his mouth open. Grace’s eyes were filled with tender sympathy. She hugged him from the back, squeezing hard. Her breasts were a pleasant softness against him.

“Daisy. Yes.”  He turned in her arms to hug her back. “She wanted to be with her grandparents,” he said, referring to his ex-wife’s parents. And he didn’t blame her. There were getting on in years. But she wasn't referring to his daughter.

Grace looked out the large picture window of his bungalow by the sea. The snowfall was light, but steady, and it would only get heavier as they day progressed. She had the strange urge to go for a walk in the uninviting gray, down to the shore.

“A white Christmas,” she said, smiling up at him. She tugged at his wire rimmed glasses, straightening them. He smiled, but his eyes were not in it. It only solidified her urge. “How long has it been since you had a Christmas by the ocean?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. Never. I don’t really like it. Too cold and wet.” He always avoided water during Christmas. He preferred being safely ensconced in the suburbs, with a bit of turkey and red wine. But fate had finally brought him back to the sea. And to Grace.

Grace’s eyes fell to the bouquet of flowers that she brought to his house. There were white lilies and red roses, and some baby’s breath.She let him go and started to pick the white lilies out of the vase and lay them gently on the counter.

“What are you doing?” he said, his brow raised.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, and started to put her coat on. It was a bright red wool thing, with a beret and a fluffy white scarf with yellow stripes. She looked like Mondrian painting. He looked back out the window. The beach was deserted, and there were gleaming chunks of ice in the orange sand at the tide line. His nipples peaked just looking at it, but one look at Grace made him start putting on his coat.

“This is kinda romantic,” she said as they walked carefully down the icy hill path to the beach.

“Not really,” he said. He looked down at their feet, ready to drop to the ground to break her fall if she slid.

“Maybe not,” she said, squeezing his arm. He looked at her. Her nose was already red, her cheeks shiny with the cold. But in her eyes was a determination that gave him a second wind.

The sand crunched underneath their galoshes, and he started to walk them toward the jetty at the far end of the beach. She let herself be guided, and they walked in silence, their bodies leaning into the vicious bite of the wind. As they got near the water, his gait lagged. She took his hand and laced her gloved fingers in his, and squeezed.

_You can do it._

But he stopped. All of the wooden jetty’s surfaces were shining with ice.

“You’re not going on that thing,” he said, his lower lip sticking out in a pout.

“Good call, detective,” she said, and gently pulled him toward the middle of the beach. From there, they could see the town, and the cliffs. There was no movement save for the wind, and the water. She put her arms around him again. The lilies slapped against his back in the sharp breezes. “Merry Christmas, Hardy,” she said. He looked down at her and she giggled. There were specks of snow glued to his glasses with the cold.

“Merry Christmas to you,” he said, curling into her body as he hugged her. When they kissed, there was a delectable contrast of cold lips and hot mouth that turned her hands to fists on his old blue overcoat.

“You taste like strong tea,” she said as they broke the kiss.

“Bitter?” he said, wiping the cold water from her cheek.

“No,” she said dreamily. “Comforting. Sweet.”

“Weird. I don’t put sugar in my tea.”

“Then it’s not the tea. It’s you,” she said, and kissed him again. Now his lips were warm. She felt the edge of his teeth on her lower lip, and got up on tiptoes. His glasses bumped up against her forehead, and by force of habit, he tore them off and threw them to kiss her deeper. His leg moved between hers, and his hands moved to her ass to pull her up.

“Alec!” she said breathlessly, but she beamed. Her cheeks tingled with blood, and his eager saliva began to freeze on her lip with the cold. She pulled away, giggling. She let go of the lilies during the kiss, and they were a couple of feet off, blowing slowly away. “Where are your glasses?”

He blinked slowly. His brown eyes, so invitingly warm, did not match their surroundings. He looked around. His spectacles stuck up from the sand a full eight feet away, the glass already rimmed with ice crystals.

She tried to catch the flowers, but he didn’t let go of her hand so she dragged him to pick them up. The creamy white petals were now speckled with brown, burnt by the cold. Then, he walked them to the glasses. He tried to wipe the ice away, but it didn’t work.

“Here,” she said, and with a wink, she licked it away.

“That’s disgusting,” he said, but she slapped his hand away and wiped them with her scarf. The glass gleamed. He took them back and put them on, mock frowning at her.

“It worked quickly, though, didn’t it?” she said.

“I’ll have to give ‘em a good clean when we get back,” he said, and walked them nearer to the cliffs.

“I seem to remember you not minding my licking your … things,” she said, and stuck out her tongue.

He stopped walking. His cheeks trembled to smile, then he kept going.

“That’s … nice. But if you start licking my fruit bowl or my keys, I might have something to say about it.”

“That’s a good point,” she said. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and he walked them to a sea wall near the water. His eyes, warm and soft just moments before, became remote, glassy.

She hugged his waist and remained silent for a bit. The only sounds were the water’s roar and their breaths. When she looked at him, a pained expression began to warp his features. His lips thinned, his brow frozen into a grimace. She couldn’t tell whether it was anger, or consternation. She put her head on his chest, and his heart beat fast - too fast for her comfort - in her ear. He was rigid, and cold - he felt like he belonged on that beach.

Maybe it was a bad idea to come down here.

“Darling,” she said softly, and touched his cheek. His beard was stiff with frozen moisture. She kissed down the line of his jaw, warming him.

It wasn’t a good idea. Definitely. And she felt guilty.

“Why here?” he said, so softly she couldn’t quite hear him.

She looked into his eyes, and he met her gaze, slowly.

“It’s not right,” he said. “This greyness and bitter cold. It’s the completely opposite of right.” He plucked the flowers from her hand and walked nearer to the water.

“Alec!” she cried out, and ran after him. His gait was fast and determined, and for a split second she thought he would walk into the frozen waves. But he stopped, right at the edge of where the waves clawed their way farthest into shore. She stood beside him, panting. His eyes were narrowed, looking far out into the water. His lips moved in words she could not discern.

She watched him, even as the damp made her toes go numb and her cheeks freeze. She held his hand, and he squeezed, acknowledging her presence, but still his lips trembled in silent prayer. A large wave - a wall of foam and icy water - hissed its way toward them. It frightened her, and she moved back and tugged at his arm - leaned out with the force of it to pull him out of the way - the hiss turned to a roar that made her cry out - and just as it looked like it would pull them both into the water, he threw the flowers into the maelstrom and ran to safety.

He ran and kept running, grey scarf trailing behind him, off the beach, up the path and to the bungalow door. They both crouched, holding their knees and panting.

“That was a good 300 meter dash,” she said, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them in her pocket. Her doctor’s mind buzzed, and she observed him for signs of fatigue, but he looked almost … triumphant. His eyes, so remote before, now looked feverish.

He opened the door quickly and pulled her inside. The door hadn’t slammed behind them but he was already kissing her, clawing at her coat buttons to get it off. When it fell to the floor, she saw from the corner of her eye that the tail was darker with water.

He had pulled her away just before they were both soaked to the bone.

“What are you-“ she started, but he nipped at her lips eagerly as he pulled her sweater over her head and pushed her against the wall. He bit his gloves off. His fingertips were red with the cold, and he pulled her jeans down to her hips and slid his hand in her panties. She hissed as his icy fingers spread her. He buried three inside her, and they groaned into each other’s mouths. Before she could curl her hips into his touch, he pulled them out, sucked them, and put his other hand between her legs, stroking his fingers warm in her wetness.

“Fuck,” she said, chattering her teeth, but she pulled her panties down and spread to give him better access. He fondled her, wetting all his fingers. “Brrr,” she said as she unbuckled his belt and cupped him over his pants.

He wasn’t all the way hard, but he was getting there.

She wanted to fall to her knees and take him into her mouth, but after what just happened, she was reluctant to take the lead. She stared into him, and he curled his fingers firmly inside her, making her moan. His fingers slicked with fresh wetness.

“Make me warm,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. She struggled with his pants. They were old, and the zipper stuck.

“Let’s go to bed,” she said, gently pulling his fingers from inside her and moving toward the bedroom. But he held her back. He shook his head.

“Not there. Here,” he said, pointing with his chin to the gliding rocking chair in front of the picture window. The chair was in the living room. In broad day light. That was new. But she was aching for him.

He tore off his shirt and threw it over the chair and sat down. She moved to kneel in front of him, but he shook his head again.

“Could you … take off your clothes for me? Slowly?”

She smiled and nodded. She started with her jeans, facing the water as she bent low and kicked them off. He sighed behind her at the sight. Then, she turned to unclasp her bra, bending forward and shaking it off. Her nipples were hard and dark with arousal already. He licked his lips. His cock rose higher. She moved her hips slowly, humming as she caressed up her naked body for him. She squeezed her breasts, and pinched her nipples. His hand moved to his cock, but he didn’t stroke. He squeezed, firmly, and a drop of precum beaded at the tip.

“Fuck,” she said, and again she moved to kneel in front of him, but he shook his head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly. “Even in this grey light. Just … could you please keep doing that?”

His cheeks were pink, a blessing after his ordeal. He began to stroke himself, a squeeze that went from the base to the tip. His thigh muscles twitched with the sensation, but his eyes were on her. She leaned on the glass, and goosebumps appeared on her body from the cold but it was delicious, because his gaze was hot. She did not dance. She slid down, just so she could spread her legs, and started to touch herself. It was not what she expected to do, but what the moment needed.

She bit her lower lip and spread herself for him. His brow twitched, and his tongue darted to the corner of his mouth. She pinched her swelling clit between her fingers and stroked in the same slow rhythm as he touched himself. Her muscles began to burn with the position, but her pussy throbbed more insistently.

“You look so … good,” he said softly, stroking faster. She wondered whether he would finish that way, and leave her burning.

“Come here,” she said, and slid her fingers into herself. She showed him how wet she was, holding her fingers up to the light, then curled them, beckoning. He cupped his balls with his other hand. It was a gentle gesture, but it made her pout. She wanted it to be her mouth.

“Now,” she said. She meant to say ‘please’, but her mouth couldn’t form around the word. She put her foot up on the low sill of the window, opening her legs wide and beckoning with both arms. The glass was cold against her back, but strangely, she didn’t want to move. She wanted him to make her cold back slide with sweat. There. Right then.

He stood up and nearly ran to her, but he grasped her arm and pulled her so she faced the glass.

“Like this,” he said. She rose on tiptoe and nodded. He grasped her hips and slid all the way into her in one quick thrust. The stretch made her grimace, but she twitched around him, already eager for more. He fucked her hard and quick, biting his lower lip. She could see his reflection in the semi-darkness. Even though he had barely touched her, his cock still shone with her copious wetness. She was so hot, and the position made her feel tight - maddeningly tight. She tried to twist her hips, fuck him back, but he grabbed her tighter, stilling her. Now his fingertips were pinpoints of pain on the wings of her hips, and heat spread from his hands to her cunt, enhancing the delicious stretch.

She liked this. Loved it when he treated her not as fragile treasure, but a woman who was desperate for contact as he was. When his lust was tangible, and insatiable. She loved it when he left love bites, and bruises. When he couldn't help himself. It was those times when she saw the real him looking at her through the old pain in his eyes. A man unemcumbered by the problems of other people, and stronger for it.

He curled into her and softly bit her earlobe. His hard pants with each stroke made her mouth water. She reached behind to grab his hips and ground circles into him, disrupting his rhythm. He grunted, took her hands and put one on her breast, the other between her legs. He pulled her until she was nearly bent over, and she held on to the glass, fingers splayed, as he fucked into her so hard her breasts jiggled.

She cried out rhythmically, head lolling like a punch-drunk boxer’s. Her thighs began to tremble. She was going to come. Hard. She would drown him.

She turned to look at him, but his eyes were downcast. He was in a world of his own.

“Alec,” she said. Her voice was hoarse from moaning. “Darling.”

He looked up at her, squinted as if he was just realizing she was there. Oddly, it didn’t bother her. She sat up and sighed as he slid out of her. His cock was rock hard, the veins pulsing softly, but his face twisted with emotion.

She leaned on the glass and pulled him to her. She stroked him, and his lips parted with sensation. She spread her legs and guided him inside her. She softly scratched down his back as he began a slower rhythm, his face cradled in her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said into her skin.

She squeezed his ass - it was so deliciously tight - and pulsed around him.

“I just wanted to see your face, honey,” she said, rubbing her lips on his beard. Her hand was a fist in his thick hair. She slid her tongue into his parted lips and licked his front teeth. “Do it like before. Hard.” She dug her fingertips into his ass.

His mouth, first soft on her neck, bit as he pounded into her. It was so good. His narrow hips slapped against hers without a fear of hurting her. And he was, in the most delectable, orgasm-inducing way. His thick cock was going to stretch her good and well. He would fuck himself completely into her so she felt him, long after they were done. Oh, so long after.

She tightened around him, her cunt hungry for him, but he did not slow and it was mind-blowing. She couldn’t see anything but pulsing pink light.

“Don’t stop-don’t stop-don’t stop-” it was a mindless litany because she was completely concentrated on the feeling of him, stretching her steadily contracting muscles open with each eager thrust, and she felt it - the breathless swooping up of emotion that came before the flood - tears rimmed her eyes - heat bloomed between her hips - pleasure swelled in her belly-

There was a roaring in her ears as she bucked against him with orgasm, wetting his pubic hair and thighs. He tried to keep fucking her, but her internal muscles clenched too tightly. He held her up and moaned with her as she let the full body orgasm work its way to her limbs. Her face was a rictus of pain, but she was jubilant. Water, her water, beaded his belly and thighs. They had made love many times, but this was the first time her body did that. He knew what it was, too. It was come. He made her really come.

She caressed him with trembling hands.

“Finish,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I want to feel you.”

He watched as a fat bead of it dripped down the inside of her thigh. He wanted to taste it - see whether it was different from her other flavors. He dropped to his knees and looked at her. It had been more than a minute, but her cunt - tempting rose flower - still pulsed hard enough for him to see. She buried her fingers in his hair.

“What you doing?” she said.

His eyes were on the droplets of amrita on her belly. “I want to taste it,” he said softly.

She lay her head back against the glass. He licked up her thigh, chasing the droplets, and up to her pussy, where she was hot and twitching.

She groaned as he stuck his fingers inside her, curious as to whether she could do it again. He wanted to be near if she did, to catch it on his tongue. She moaned and moved her hips to the rhythm he established, and he licked circles on her orgasm-stiff clit. He tasted it before it happened - between the hard squeeze and the release - and it made his chest contract.

It was ocean water. Summer warm, and salty. She squeezed his fingers out and filled his mouth. It was so copious and dripped from the corners and onto his chest. His brow twitched with emotion, even as he rose and sank into her once more to finish. He fucked through her forceful twitching, panting into her forehead.

All his life he tried to protect himself. Keep his heart safe, but it was impossible. Despite his efforts, he knew now. It didn’t matter how far from the water he chose to live, to protect himself. Every woman had a sea inside. All of them, borne to and from the waves, to steal his peace of mind.

His orgasm was hard, but his head wasn’t in it. She held him as he collapsed against her, kissing him through his moans. She felt something different in him. A pain, despite the pleasure.

“Let’s go to bed,” she said, and pulled him to the bedroom. He let himself be led, and laid beside her. There was another large window in there, also facing the ocean. Usually, he kept the drapes closed, but she had opened them wide that morning to watch the snow. She pulled the covers over them both and lay on his chest, playing with his chest hair, but his eyes were on the sea. It foamed and churned, but the snow was falling harder. It looked like an image on a fuzzy television on mute, remote and silent.

She dared to look up at him. “Are you okay?” she said. Guilt prickled at her again. She knew he was a man with a deep wellspring of emotion. She shouldn’t have stirred them up.

He blew on her sweaty brow, then smiled at her. “I’m fine. Very fine,” he said, and patted her ass.

“Where were you?” she said. She didn’t feel like mincing words.

He looked back out to the sea. The grey light filtered in and made his brown eyes gold. It was breathtaking. He was so beautiful, and he didn’t know it. She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face to meet her gaze.

“What are you thinking?” she said. He blinked slowly, but he did not smile this time.

“Grace …” he said softly, but it did not sound like entreaty. He was saying the word. He focused on her face.

“You’re a sea inside,” he said, and his eyes drifted back to the window. “All of you. No matter how far I run from it.” It was a strange thing to say, but poetic. But she wanted him not out in the aether of the past, but with her.

She slid her arm underneath his shoulders and pulled him into her arms. He hiccuped and hugged her, hard. She didn’t care what he said. She loved him, and she would show him. Even if **_he_** showed up again to remind her that this world was actually hell. Alec was heaven - peaceful, lovely, and for her, totally undeserved. But she wouldn’t let him go without a fight. To the death, if it came to it.

The oven dinged, breaking the somber mood.

“Turkey’s ready,” she said into his hair. He molded his body even tighter against her.

“Don’t care.”

“What about the unbreakable traditions? Turkey on the table, wine in a cup, Nat King Cole on the hifi …” she said, repeating what he told her just hours before. “They’re the little things that keep us sane, no?” He grunted into her shoulder. “Also, I’m starving.”

He looked up at her. His eyes were still feverish, and it made her heart sore.

“Come on. A quick shower, dress, and I’ll start the bread sauce while the meat cools. Sound good?”

He nodded, lower lip sticking out like a boy’s.

She ran naked to the kitchen to pull the turkey breast out of oven. He smiled rustily. She looked improbably domestic in the red christmas oven mitts. Her breasts jiggled as she put it down and dipped her finger in the drippings. She hissed, mmm’ed, and sucked her finger, then ran back to the bedroom. She started the shower.

“Come on, baby. Let’s wash this off,” she said, beckoning to him. He rose and walked into her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not porn without plot - this is the bedrock of a far more fleshed out relationship that I develop in my Lust Lessons series. Take the time to give it a read, and this story will have a far more bittersweet meaning.


End file.
